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An endless house without a home.\n\nAs L tries to get out, he walks into a bleak landscape of entrapment, a zone so\nalien you feel like you’re inhaling radioactive particles. He steps into the empty\npool-like container. Inside, he comes across a second empty low well. He sits down\n\non the edge.\n\nOver years, just like fibreglass, he went from being soft, warm, raw,\nand mouldable to being everlastingly hard, cold, and dead.\n\nWhat has hardened will never win.\n\nA Matryoshka-like life in a Matryoshka-like environment.\nYou usually keep peeling the layers until you get to a soft core,\n\nbut now the core is stiff and empty.\n\nA life within a life. A mise en abyme. A well within a well.\n\nA painting within a painting. Into the abyss. So many layers of useless shields,\n\n1\nThrobbing Gristle, 1975, Very Friendly\n\nVery Friendly\nCurated by Agnes Gryczkowska\n13 October 2023 - JANUARY 2024\n\n2\n\nand protection. A small shield to fit inside a larger shield as reality becomes more\n\nfolded in on itself and the walls become more hazy.\n\nUntitled manipulating time and architecture instead of pigment and oil.\n\nA perfectly framed Shakespearean mousetrap.\n\nLess Sauvage Than Others, Contribution for a Children’s House seven bronze-cast\npistols—things for children to play with...the perfect puppetry of defence.\n\nThere are things behind the steel walls.\nWhere the long shadows fall.\nThere are things behind the steel walls.\nWhere the long shadows fall.\n\nLast night L dreamt he couldn’t see past the steel walls, past the scratches\nand wounds. They multiplied, layered. They blocked his vision.\n\nThe somatic unease of confinement. The growing uncertainty and ambivalence\nabout his safety as violence and fear seep through the cracks of the floor, broken\nwindows, implanting themselves into the scratches, moving without a sound.\nWhen all language fails, we are left with the real cruelty, the word-less embodiment\n\nof our fears.\n\nThe self-immolated and wounded surface of Incarnation IV has been scratched,\nopened and washed—transforming violence into an act of revolt.\n\nBut... there are things behind the steel walls.\n\nDolls, puppets, marching bunnies, and masks. Living or inanimate.\n\nBoo! with its blood shot eyes.\nDon’t you cry little baby, go to sleep.\n\nWhen you wake, you shall have all the pretty little horsies. 2\nSeven bronze-cast pistols and all the pretty little horsies.\nL thinks about yesterday’s headlines: “Satanists grab kids.”\nThe presence of fear and violence, all around his blood-shot eyes.\n\nOutside of his peripheral vision.\n\nSame night, Edward Evans was also getting dressed in his best...\n\nAnd then somebody came towards him wearing blue suede shoes, and it was Ian\nBrady, and he introduced himself, he said “Hi, my name’s Ian, I saw you, uh, down at\nthe Viking last week. Why don’t you come back to my place and we can, uh, drink\nsome German wine, I’ve got a car around the corner, my sister’s there, she’ll drive\n\nus back.\n\nIt’s only in Hyde, it’s not too far.\nIf it gets late, you can always stay the night.”\n\nVery friendly\n\nBefore violence unfolds, the darkness of life has to layer up. It’s resting its head\n\non the table.\nThe characters are absent.\n\nL is looking at them closely, inspecting their hands, the non-existence of their eyes.\n“What do they want? Are they lonely? Are they scared? Are they violent?\n\nAre they powerless?”\n\nThey don’t even know if they should live or die.\nThey just want to go somewhere to disappear.\n\nL wants to stay there and continue staring at them, but he cannot.\nThe space gradually fills with the subtle traces of violence and tragedy\n\nthat terrify him the most.\n\n2 Current 93, 1996, All the Pretty Little Horsies\n\n3\n\nHe thinks about all the things we are so deeply embedded in that we no longer notice\n\nwe live by their rules.\n\nThe invisibility of a gun bonded to a corporate shirt.\n\nThe unsettling silence before sex or a scar left by a lover who broke your heart.\n\nThe ballistic vest moulding in the corner.\nThe eyes of a child before a school shooting.\n\nThose sticky, sickly moments before and after violence are the most violent.\nThere is no violence in the violence of fighting through tear gas.\n\nBut the scars... we finger them, they reopen, the image is over saturated, as in the opening\n\nsequence of a hit show.\n\nL dreamt he went to the doctor’s and she gave him eight minutes to live.\nHe’d been sitting in the fucking waiting room half an hour. 3\n\nIn this room, dancing\nDancing for you\nDancing\nDrifting\nFalling 4\n\nL remembered that when he went to the doctor’s that day, he thought\nto himself how his skin was the only thing keeping him from disappearing.\n\nThere are things behind the steel walls.\nWhere the long shadows fall.\nThere are things behind the steel walls.\nWhere the long shadows fall.\n\nAnd Myra Hindley went over up the road to see David Smith, and Maureen her\nsister, and David Smith didn’t have a shirt on and he was drinking tea with his wife.\n“Why don’t you come back to our place David. We’ve got something rather special\n\nto show you.”\n\nL is thinking about all these deranged serial killers, the True Crime obsession.\n\nAre they loathsome tonight?\nDoes their madness shine bright?\nI Know It’s Sick But It’s So Much Fun.\n\nIn the age of networked information insanity, the unseen is what weighs heavy.\nThe broken promises of safety dance with pleasures, twisted and darkly veiled.\n\nSickly, sticky violence trickles.\nChopping and chopping.\n\nKills invisibly to keep the world turning.\n\nTheatrical blood splatters all over the shiny steel of the axe.\n\nAll over the silicone tits, cum like.\nBlood within the public eye. They own it.\n\nBut it’s really the bloodstained coasts that keep the world turning.\n\nMyra Hindley said, “Why don’t you go in there David, you might like what you see.”\nSo he opened the door while Myra went in the kitchen to get more German wine...\nAnd when he went inside he looked over to the sofa, and there was Ian Brady... chopping\n\nat Edward Evans’ head with an axe!\n\nAnd he was chopping, and chopping, and the axe was going into the back of his neck,\nand there was blood spurting over the Church Of England prayerbook\n\n3\nSarah Kane, 4.48 Psychosis, 2000 4 Blackhaine, 2021, DID U CUM YET / I’M NOT GONNA CUM\n\n4\n\nThe spectre of violence looms omnipresent, it cannot be rationalised,\n\nyet is diffused by the theatrics of the stage.\n\nSome body marks bear witness to actual harm, some imitate them— hiding the real\n\nthreat.\n\nStrange apparitions of violence.\nThe unknown knowns.\n\nA body propped against the building’s interior, unable to escape.\nA body navigating the space, following the bizarre system of movement,\n\nunable to escape.\n\nA body constantly bending under the hits, unable to escape.\nA body hitting the ground, unable to escape.\nA body blinded and tied up with duck tape, unable to escape.\n\nAnd the car reverses over.\nA body in the basin.\nA body in a basement.\nAnd the car reverses over.\n\nL is too depressed to notice. He walks in circles, like the system which reproduces\n\nitself through violence, like a gonidium. The infinite tragedy.\n\nWe collapse in the heart of order.\nListen to the sound of one hand clapping.\n\nL thinks to himself, “Should I be here? Is it coming?”\nA dotted line on the throat that says: cut here.\n\nThere are things behind the steel walls.\nWhere the long shadows fall.\nThere are things behind the steel walls.\nWhere the long shadows fall.\n\nAnd it was the police station, and the rather fat police sergeant who was trying\nto finish checking his football pools heard the phone ring, and he said, “Oh, shit.”\nAnd he put down his mug of tea which had a coronation picture of the queen on\nit, and he picked up the phone, and when David Smith heard the policeman answer\n\nand say, “Yes, what do you want?” he told him and said, “There’s been a m-m-m-m-m-m-\nm-m-m-murder!”\n\nIan Brady and Myra Hindley...\nVery friendly...\n\nAgnes Gryczkowska",{"_type":14,"asset":102,"metadata":103},{"_ref":67,"_type":17},{"_type":19,"blurHash":69,"dimensions":104,"hasAlpha":26,"isOpaque":27,"lqip":74,"palette":105,"thumbHash":94},{"_type":22,"aspectRatio":71,"height":72,"width":73},{"_type":30,"darkMuted":106,"darkVibrant":107,"dominant":108,"lightMuted":109,"lightVibrant":110,"muted":111,"vibrant":112},{"_type":32,"background":77,"foreground":34,"population":78,"title":34},{"_type":32,"background":80,"foreground":34,"population":81,"title":34},{"_type":32,"background":77,"foreground":34,"population":78,"title":34},{"_type":32,"background":84,"foreground":34,"population":85,"title":34},{"_type":32,"background":87,"foreground":42,"population":88,"title":34},{"_type":32,"background":90,"foreground":34,"population":91,"title":34},{"_type":32,"background":93,"foreground":34,"population":88,"title":34},{"_type":114,"current":115},"slug","very-friendly-HOUSE",[117,128,136,144,152,160,168,176,184,192,200,208,216,224,232,240,248,256,264,272,280,288,296,304,312,320,328,336,344,352,360,368,376,384,392,400,408,416,424,432,440,448,456,464,472,480,488,496,504,512,520,528,536,544,552,560,568,576,584,592,600,608,615,623,631,639,647,655,663,671,679,687,695,703,711,719,727,735,743,751,759,767,775,783,791,799,807,815,823,831,839,846,854,862,870],{"_key":118,"_type":119,"children":120,"markDefs":126,"style":127},"3601183dbc58","block",[121],{"_key":122,"_type":123,"marks":124,"text":125},"aeef9ec3db8c0","span",[],"The manic voice and distorted guitars of Throbbing Gristle’s ‘Very Friendly’",[],"normal",{"_key":129,"_type":119,"children":130,"markDefs":135,"style":127},"f488ccb4f384",[131],{"_key":132,"_type":123,"marks":133,"text":134},"366328a5fff20",[],"fill the space as L walks in.",[],{"_key":137,"_type":119,"children":138,"markDefs":143,"style":127},"1eff8d146f03",[139],{"_key":140,"_type":123,"marks":141,"text":142},"7405b8bd4e750",[],"It was just an ordinary day in Manchester\nIan Brady and Myra Hindley...\nDrinking German wine",[],{"_key":145,"_type":119,"children":146,"markDefs":151,"style":127},"823109119f45",[147],{"_key":148,"_type":123,"marks":149,"text":150},"ad1b27b0c2430",[],"Myra Hindley put on a dark wig and drove Ian Brady to the mainline station. 1",[],{"_key":153,"_type":119,"children":154,"markDefs":159,"style":127},"ac8c5163027e",[155],{"_key":156,"_type":123,"marks":157,"text":158},"d9c609de838d0",[],"L vaguely remembers that the song might have been about Ian Brady\nand Myra Hindley’s last murder, committed on 06 October 1965.",[],{"_key":161,"_type":119,"children":162,"markDefs":167,"style":127},"a56020195c78",[163],{"_key":164,"_type":123,"marks":165,"text":166},"0bc84fa79f6a0",[],"Very friendly.\nViolence spiralling.",[],{"_key":169,"_type":119,"children":170,"markDefs":175,"style":127},"73157bc1e0c4",[171],{"_key":172,"_type":123,"marks":173,"text":174},"04f541f0ea210",[],"Twisting and turning its invisible arms.\nIn and out they go, penetrating.\nSpaces feel strange, crushed, unsafe.",[],{"_key":177,"_type":119,"children":178,"markDefs":183,"style":127},"4be3dd91bfab",[179],{"_key":180,"_type":123,"marks":181,"text":182},"430626fcd7be0",[],"LA LA LAND of rusty welfare state expectations, the fog of volatility",[],{"_key":185,"_type":119,"children":186,"markDefs":191,"style":127},"4af5924f09b6",[187],{"_key":188,"_type":123,"marks":189,"text":190},"707a018461410",[],"and loneliness.",[],{"_key":193,"_type":119,"children":194,"markDefs":199,"style":127},"a630bb49674a",[195],{"_key":196,"_type":123,"marks":197,"text":198},"403707f14be90",[],"L moves hesitantly, gliding through as the metal fencing morphs.\nSpiralling downwards. An endless house without a home.",[],{"_key":201,"_type":119,"children":202,"markDefs":207,"style":127},"2ad81851fe5f",[203],{"_key":204,"_type":123,"marks":205,"text":206},"0b6f4d58012d0",[],"As L tries to get out, he walks into a bleak landscape of entrapment, a zone so\nalien you feel like you’re inhaling radioactive particles. He steps into the empty\npool-like container. Inside, he comes across a second empty low well. He sits down",[],{"_key":209,"_type":119,"children":210,"markDefs":215,"style":127},"e4f8ae90c302",[211],{"_key":212,"_type":123,"marks":213,"text":214},"164b113f67dc0",[],"on the edge.",[],{"_key":217,"_type":119,"children":218,"markDefs":223,"style":127},"7750758eaaa5",[219],{"_key":220,"_type":123,"marks":221,"text":222},"ad16d50a2f350",[],"Over years, just like fibreglass, he went from being soft, warm, raw,\nand mouldable to being everlastingly hard, cold, and dead.",[],{"_key":225,"_type":119,"children":226,"markDefs":231,"style":127},"d47df6658df3",[227],{"_key":228,"_type":123,"marks":229,"text":230},"04005aaa1d040",[],"What has hardened will never win.",[],{"_key":233,"_type":119,"children":234,"markDefs":239,"style":127},"ef5ed3961e45",[235],{"_key":236,"_type":123,"marks":237,"text":238},"d30d1ebbf28d0",[],"A Matryoshka-like life in a Matryoshka-like environment.\nYou usually keep peeling the layers until you get to a soft core,",[],{"_key":241,"_type":119,"children":242,"markDefs":247,"style":127},"4b539296619f",[243],{"_key":244,"_type":123,"marks":245,"text":246},"c5ffca6bb7480",[],"but now the core is stiff and empty.",[],{"_key":249,"_type":119,"children":250,"markDefs":255,"style":127},"3e0966276db6",[251],{"_key":252,"_type":123,"marks":253,"text":254},"b1248ff4bdb90",[],"A life within a life. A mise en abyme. A well within a well.",[],{"_key":257,"_type":119,"children":258,"markDefs":263,"style":127},"c5e2673d0627",[259],{"_key":260,"_type":123,"marks":261,"text":262},"1c377b13151f0",[],"A painting within a painting. Into the abyss. 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A small shield to fit inside a larger shield as reality becomes more",[],{"_key":297,"_type":119,"children":298,"markDefs":303,"style":127},"61a8ccd03e73",[299],{"_key":300,"_type":123,"marks":301,"text":302},"19b54d0bf8190",[],"folded in on itself and the walls become more hazy.",[],{"_key":305,"_type":119,"children":306,"markDefs":311,"style":127},"a6be8f6eb6e6",[307],{"_key":308,"_type":123,"marks":309,"text":310},"844fd1ae15160",[],"Untitled manipulating time and architecture instead of pigment and oil.",[],{"_key":313,"_type":119,"children":314,"markDefs":319,"style":127},"8c62f0c05dd9",[315],{"_key":316,"_type":123,"marks":317,"text":318},"2781db6639130",[],"A perfectly framed Shakespearean mousetrap.",[],{"_key":321,"_type":119,"children":322,"markDefs":327,"style":127},"f8e456d3b344",[323],{"_key":324,"_type":123,"marks":325,"text":326},"11fb6ec8861b0",[],"Less Sauvage Than Others, Contribution for a Children’s House seven bronze-cast\npistols—things for children to play with...the perfect puppetry of defence.",[],{"_key":329,"_type":119,"children":330,"markDefs":335,"style":127},"72445cef3267",[331],{"_key":332,"_type":123,"marks":333,"text":334},"78ea99741fed0",[],"There are things behind the steel walls.\nWhere the long shadows fall.\nThere are things behind the steel walls.\nWhere the long shadows fall.",[],{"_key":337,"_type":119,"children":338,"markDefs":343,"style":127},"d7187c16e122",[339],{"_key":340,"_type":123,"marks":341,"text":342},"639aab9fee360",[],"Last night L dreamt he couldn’t see past the steel walls, past the scratches\nand wounds. They multiplied, layered. They blocked his vision.",[],{"_key":345,"_type":119,"children":346,"markDefs":351,"style":127},"5ec2352fa5b1",[347],{"_key":348,"_type":123,"marks":349,"text":350},"b36c27c59dcb0",[],"The somatic unease of confinement. The growing uncertainty and ambivalence\nabout his safety as violence and fear seep through the cracks of the floor, broken\nwindows, implanting themselves into the scratches, moving without a sound.\nWhen all language fails, we are left with the real cruelty, the word-less embodiment",[],{"_key":353,"_type":119,"children":354,"markDefs":359,"style":127},"fdef4cf6d0c9",[355],{"_key":356,"_type":123,"marks":357,"text":358},"81b819a3f2be0",[],"of our fears.",[],{"_key":361,"_type":119,"children":362,"markDefs":367,"style":127},"7835874dffcb",[363],{"_key":364,"_type":123,"marks":365,"text":366},"1360baabe2290",[],"The self-immolated and wounded surface of Incarnation IV has been scratched,\nopened and washed—transforming violence into an act of revolt.",[],{"_key":369,"_type":119,"children":370,"markDefs":375,"style":127},"6f55515feffb",[371],{"_key":372,"_type":123,"marks":373,"text":374},"aae633a397b00",[],"But... there are things behind the steel walls.",[],{"_key":377,"_type":119,"children":378,"markDefs":383,"style":127},"f5885650ef30",[379],{"_key":380,"_type":123,"marks":381,"text":382},"3ecba4e446f80",[],"Dolls, puppets, marching bunnies, and masks. 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